


Complicated Truths

by EmmaArthur (EchoBleu)



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Blind Character, CIA operatives, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Queer Relationship, Covert Affairs Fusion, Government Conspiracy, Hurt/Comfort, Jesse Manes is a War Crime, M/M, No knowledge of Covert Affairs needed, Running From The Government, Some Whump, Very vague Leverage crossover, With added disabilities, spy AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:35:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22852606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoBleu/pseuds/EmmaArthur
Summary: When rookie operative Michael Guerin is pulled out of training as bait to find a leak in the CIA, veteran spy Alex Manes, who has been out of the field since he was badly injured in Iraq, is assigned as his handler. Things get complicated when Guerin turns out to be the Michael Alex had a fling with on a beach in Sri Lanka three years ago, and even more when the leak case leads them to a conspiracy larger than they imagined, that seems to involve Alex's own father...
Relationships: Background Isobel/Noah - Relationship, Background eventual Echo, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 62
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My brain has apparently decided I'm not writing enough fics, so here's the beginning of a new AU!
> 
> Huge thank you to [InsidiousIntent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsidiousIntent/pseuds/InsidiousIntent) for helping me get my ideas in order and being an amazing beta and making this presentable. The title is also her suggestion. Thank you also to the Anon on Tumblr who got me excited for this AU!
> 
> It's a spy AU, heavily enough inspired by Covert Affairs to qualify as a fusion, though it will diverge widely in terms of plot. Knowledge of Covert Affairs is not required at all to read.
> 
> This first chapter is a prologue of sort, so I'll be posting the real start of the story tomorrow or the day after.
> 
> [interrogation and alluded torture, allusion to war injuries and to abuse]

_August 10, 2017_

“Polygraph for CIA admission. August 10, 2017, Camp Peary, Virginia. A few questions for control. Your name is Michael Guerin?”

Michael wiggles uncomfortably, the blood pressure cuff chafing at his arm, before he remembers himself. This isn't exactly a job interview, but it's important for his career. He can't fuck this up.

“Yes,” he says, as convincingly as he can.

“You're twenty seven years old?”

“Yes.”

He glances at the camera sitting in front of him, breathing through his nerves. He can do this.

“You reside in Washington D.C.?”

“Georgetown, yes.”

“You speak four languages?”

“I like to travel,” Michael says with a smile.

The operator frowns. “'Yes' or 'no' will be fine.”

Michael stops smiling, chastised. “Yes,” he says a bit sullenly.

“Okay, Michael. I'm going to ask you some personal questions now.”

-

_June 30, 2015_

“Alex Manes, reporting for debrief after coming in from the cold,” Jesse Manes says into the intercom.

Alex stands perfectly still, at attention, hyperaware of his father's heavy hand on his shoulder. “Why are you even pretending this is a regular debrief?” he asks as the door clicks open.

“Why would it be anything else?” his father asks.

Alex shakes his head. There's very little point in arguing. Jesse Manes has the power to do anything he wants to him, and Alex has no doubt that he will. He chased him half-way around the world during the last two weeks, after all.

“Get in,” Jesse pushes him in front of him. “This will be much easier if you just tell us the truth.”

“What truth, Dad?”

-

_August 10, 2017_

“You told us in your vetting interview that your last relationship ended two years ago. Is that correct?”

Michael shift in his seat. He wouldn't have thought they would lead with that. “Yes.”

“And you met abroad?”

“Yes. In Sri Lanka. I was backpacking, he was doing some IT work in a school.”

“Did you love one another?”

Michael gapes, surprised by the question. “I...we were together for three weeks,” he says.

“That's not an answer.”

“I guess so, yes. Or at least, I was.”

“The sex was good?”

Michael feels his eyes widen. “Uh, excuse me?”

“Was it good?”

Is this some kind of homophobic nonsense? Michael almost rolls his eyes, before he remembers where he is. “It rocked,” he says cockily.

-

_July 15, 2015_

“Why did you approach him in particular?”

Alex sighs, pulling at the handcuffs out of habit. “I told you this a thousand times already. Michael had nothing to do with my job. I did not _approach_ him, I fell in love with him. He's not part of a mission, I don't even know his last name!”

“So you engaged in a personal relationship while in the middle of a mission on foreign soil?” the interrogator tilts his head.

“There was no mission. I was on vacation.”

“That's what you keep telling me. Yet we have photographic proof that you met with operative Kyle Valenti on a beach in Sri Lanka.”

“Kyle is my friend,” Alex says. “He texted me, on my personal phone, that he was passing by, we met for a drink. Nothing else.”

“What was Valenti doing in Sri Lanka?”

“I don't know. I assume he took some vacation days on his own?”

“What about Michael? Was he on vacation too?”

Alex closes his eyes, exhausted. “He was backpacking. How many times do I have to repeat the exact same thing?”

“Until you tell us the truth,” the man says evenly.

-

_August 10, 2017_

“It ended badly?” the operator asks.

Michael sighs. He can still see it in his mind's eye, the open cabin on the beach, the orchids on the pillow, the note. _The truth is complicated. Forgive me._ And Alex, gone.

“Yes. It ended badly.”

“Did it bother you?”

Michael feels his annoyance rise again. “After a three-weeks whirlwind romance, my supposed dream guy left me in the middle of the night with a cryptic note. Wouldn't that bother you?”

The operator looks mildly disgusted, confirming Michael's suspicions regarding his homophobia.

“We're looking for a 'yes' or a 'no'.”

“Can you repeat the question?” Michael says through gritted teeth.

“The question is this: if you join the CIA, will you be able to separate your work from your personal life?”

“Yes,” Michael smirks.. ”Absolutely.”

-

_September 21, 2015_

“Dad,” Alex mutters under his breath. “It's been a while, fucker.”

Jesse Manes hasn't been here in weeks. He was present often at the beginning, but he's long delegated the unsavory task of interrogating Alex to his trusted subordinates. Him being here today means that something is changing.

“What did you say?” his father growls.

“I'm wondering how long you can keep me here under the guise of a debrief,” Alex answers. “It's been three months, Dad. Don't you think that's enough?”

“I do,” Jesse Manes answers. “That's why I'm here. It's become evident that you either don't know the answers to our questions, or you are not going to give them to us.”

Alex almost bangs his head on the table, half in annoyance and half in relief. He's tired. Three months of constant interrogation, and sleep and food deprivation have taken their toll.

“Finally.”

“You will be taken to a military facility out in Ohio to get back in shape. As soon as you're cleared, you will leave for Iraq, where you will join the Special Tactics Training Squadron. As of today, your CIA accreditation has been revoked.”

Alex opens his mouth, then closes it again. There's nothing he can do, is there? He can only hope that Kyle has been spared a similar fate.

“Goodbye, son,” Jesse Manes says as the other man removes the handcuffs from Alex's bloody wrists. “I hope this tour will help you see reason.”

-

_August 10, 2017_

“Let's move on. You have a brother and a sister, correct?”

“Yes,” Michael nods.

“Max Evans and Isobel Evan-Bracken, according to your file. You grew up in the foster system, but they were adopted. They're your only family?”

“Yes. Our parents died when we were seven,” he adds. He hopes his time in the system won't be brought up. To this day, he still gets spikes of anger thinking about the abuse he's been through, and he doesn't need the polygraph to record that.

“Max is an award-winning investigative journalist,” the operator goes down another line of questioning. “Are you confident that you will be able to keep the truth about your job with the Agency from him?”

Michael sits back. “Max is not going to be a problem. We don't have a very close relationship.”

The operator waits expectantly. “Sorry, yes,” Michael says. “I can keep the truth from him.”

“You state your intention to live with your sister and her husband once your training is complete. You believe they won't be suspicious of your activities?”

“It'll be fine,” Michael shrugs. “No, they won't be suspicious. Beside, you guys will provide me with a proper cover job, right?”

“That's right, yes. You have no intent to report anything you learn in your line of work to your family?”

Michael almost rolls his eyes again. “Of course not.”

-

_January 17, 2016_

“Alex. Can I come in?”

Alex looks up from his position on his bed, fingers struggling to decipher the lines of raised dots that made up his book.

“Who is it?” he asks, his heartbeat quickening like every time a stranger approaches him.

“Oh, sorry.” The voice sounds vaguely disturbed. “It's Liz. Liz Ortecho.”

“Liz.” Alex forces out a smile. “Of course, come in.” He closes his book without bothering to put in a bookmark−he's so slow at reading Braille that he forgets the beginning of each sentence before he reaches the end, anyway−and puts it aside. “It's been a while.”

“Alex, I...I only heard what happened a few weeks ago, and I wanted to visit, but−”

“Let me guess, my dad?”

“He put a communications ban on you. You know what that means.”

“No one at the Agency could contact me, yes,” Alex sighs. “When neither you nor Kyle came to visit, I suspected it.”

“I'm sorry,” Liz says. She's still standing near the door, like she can't quite bring herself to come inside. Alex can only imagine her staring at his pinned-up pant leg, at his face, cataloging the changes. He can hear the pity in her voice.

“What changed?” he asks.

“Jesse Manes stepped down as DCS this morning. He's retiring.”

Alex frowns. “What?”

“I don't know anything more. But Michelle Valenti is going to be appointed DCS, which means that you're looking at the new head of the DPD.”

There's a silence as Liz realizes what she just said. Alex feels a laugh bubbling out, which he thinks may be from relief at the news, more than the ridiculousness of the situation. His father is getting out of the Agency. It seems impossible.

“Erm, you know what I mean,” Liz chuckles, when she sees he's not offended.

“You never think about how many phrases involve sight until you lose it,” Alex shrugs. “Don't stop using them, there's no point. And, uh, congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Liz finally walks up to him, carefully. Alex pats the bed beside him and extends his arms, and she falls into his hug gratefully. “I've missed you,” she says.

“Me too. It's been a bit lonely around here.”

He feels Liz nod. “I'm really sorry. Kyle will come as soon as he hears the ban is lifted, I'm sure, and I won't leave you on your own again.”

“You're going to be overwhelmed with work,” Alex says. “Don't worry about me. I'll be fine.”

“Actually, I have an offer for you.”

“An offer?”

“A job offer.” Liz puts a hand on Alex's shoulder before he can stop her. “I know your...circumstances. Fieldwork is out, but there are other options.”

“What are you thinking?” Alex asks.

“Do you think you'll be able to work with computers again? The way you used to?”

Alex bites his lip. For now, at ten weeks of rehab, any future beyond tomorrow feels far out of his reach. He's just starting to see the contours of what his life could look like, down the road. “I've been trying. I'm working on it with someone. It's not going to be easy, but...maybe.”

“If you can do better than maybe, say, six months from now, I'll have a tech ops position for you,” Liz says.

Alex closes his eyes against the mix of hope and bitterness that rise in him. He smiles tightly. “I can't promise anything, Liz”, he says. “But I'll give it my best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think! Is this going to make an interesting story? Any theories already?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the warm welcome you gave yesterday's prologue.
> 
> Here is the first real chapter! If you've paid attention to the dates in the prologue, you'll see that we take off about 10 months after we last saw Michael, and nearly two and a half years after we last saw Alex. If you really paid attention to the dates, you'll notice that I changed one of them because I miscalculated lol.
> 
> Many thanks to InsidiousIntent for the betaing, and I hope you enjoy!

_June 2, 2019. Langley, Virginia._

“Hey, Alex?”

Alex stops typing and removes his headset from his ears. The other two tech ops are both in a meeting, so he's alone in the office, but the glass doors leading to the main cubicle area are open as usual. “Um?”

“It's Kyle.”

“Hey, man,” Alex extends his hand to his best friend, who shakes it. “What's up?”

“This.”

Alex rolls his eyes  when he hears something−a file?−hit his desk. He makes a grab for it, finding it more pliable than he expected. A newspaper, then.

“What is this?” he asks.

“My mom is making an announcement right now. It's only for the department heads, but you know how fast news travel in here.”

“Kyle, I can't read it. What is it?”

“Classified information was leaked to the press. To a reporter named Max Evans. Which means−”

“We have a mole,” Alex finishes. “Any indication who?”

“Evans's brother-in-law is an operative. In our department too, Noah Bracken. He's been quarantined, but if you want my opinion, it's too obvious. He would have known he'd be a suspect.”

Alex frowns. He vaguely remembers Noah from his field days, though they never formally met. The man seemed competent and outgoing, but that's all the impression Alex got.

“I suppose,” he shrugs.

“Alex!” Liz calls from the mezzanine above the cubicles.

“Duty calls,” Alex apologizes to Kyle, shoving the newspaper back in his hand and shaking out his cane.

He uses the elevator up to Liz's office, rather than the stairs, to make it easier on his leg. He can't hear her outside the door anymore when he gets there, so he knocks lightly.

“Come in! Close the door behind you.”

Liz is the head of the Department of Clandestine Services, and as such the only one to have an office with a door and blinds on the glass walls. Alex thinks it ironic sometimes, that a place with so much secrecy would only have barely secluded cubicles for its employees.

“Alex. You've heard about Evans and Bracken already?”

Alex nods. “Kyle just told me.”

“Good. The leak is serious, and it will be treated as such. We're starting a full-on investigation. We've had to pull five of our people out because of the intel that was printed, and the DCS is pissed. So am I.”

“What can I do?” Alex asks.

“Evans's brother, Michael Guerin, has been training at the Farm. He was close to completion anyway, so he's being pulled out as we speak to come here.”

“To do what?”

“To become an operative.”

Alex frowns. “Shouldn't you rather keep him away from here at all cost?”

“That's not what we're doing. The official reason is that we need an operative with engineering knowledge, and he happens to have an engineering degree.”

“You want to use him as bait,” Alex says, understanding.

“If Bracken is in fact the leak, it won't even be needed. But we've been watching Evans for a while now. This wasn't the first leak.”

“Nothing made it to the paper before.”

“No. One of our assets managed to convince Evans that lives were at stakes the first time, and he seemed to give in to reason. Something's different this time. We need an in.”

“Why was Guerin even at the Farm if he has that kind of relations?” Alex asks. “It seems awfully coincidental.”

“He did apply,” Liz says.

The math is simple to do. “You recruited him as leverage against his brother,” Alex states.

“Not entirely. He's...talented. His test results are almost as good as yours. He will make a good operative, if this mess doesn't burn him first.”

“Um.” Alex reserves his opinion. First in his class at the Farm, this could be another cocky know-it-all who refuses to listen to orders. “Where do I fit in?”

“Michael is on his way here. I'll give him the rundown, but I have back to back meetings until noon, so I want you to show him around.”

Alex snorts and waves his white cane at her. “Blind leading the...sighted? Really?”

“You can work it out. You're going to be his handler. And I need you to keep an especially close eye on him.”

“I don't think that's gonna happen, but I can try a close ear if you ask me nicely,” Alex winks.

“Glad we're on the same page,” Liz says with a smile in her voice. “I trust you.”

“Yes boss,” Alex smiles back. He's known Liz since long before she took over as department head, back when she was just the best field operative in the whole South American division. She finished at the Farm only months before he did, and she, Alex and Kyle worked many operations together. She was the one who vouched for Alex to be reinstated as a tech op after he finished rehab two years ago, and even though she is, in fact, his boss, their relationship is one of good friendship.

“He'll be here in an hour. Bring him by when you're done with the tour.”

“Will do.”

Kyle is gone when Alex makes it back downstairs, so he goes back to his desk. He skims through Guerin's file on his computer, but it yields no interesting information, since his full background hasn't been released internally. Michael Guerin. Alex hopes he goes by some nickname, or that he won't ask to be called by his first name, because however common it is, Michael won't ever be anyone to him other that  _Michael_ . Engineering major, has been traveling around the world since graduation. Recommended by operative Noah Bracken. It doesn't indicate whether Guerin has been informed of Bracken's real job, let alone of the mole situation. Alex assumes he’s not, which means this might be a delicate situation to navigate.

On the hour, he heads to the security office Guerin is supposed to be sworn in.

“Michael Guerin?” he asks when he hears someone come out.

“Yes?” the man turns around.

“Alex Manes, tech ops,” Alex introduces himself, switching his cane to his left hand to shake his hand.

“ _Alex_?”

Alex frowns. The voice sounds vaguely familiar, in the way the voices of people he knew before his accident usually sound, but he can't place it. Until...

There's the scent he can never forget, the man crowding his space, too close, too tall against him and...

“ _Michael_ ,” Alex realizes. How? How is _his_ Michael here in Langley? Alex left him on that beach in Sri Lanka so he wouldn't get involved in this business. It's too dangerous. It's already cost Alex too much. “No. No, you shouldn't be here.”

“Why, because you don't want to see me again?” Michael asks, poison lacing his voice. “Because you _left_ me like a broken toy? Didn't even say goodbye?”

Alex takes a step back, feeling sick. Of course Michael would hate him. That was the goal. But the pain in his voice still feels like a hammer to his chest.

“I'm sorry,” he says.

“Oh yeah. You wrote that. The truth is complicated, uh? So that's the truth? You're a spy?”

“Yes,” Alex sighs. The _truth_ is far more complicated than that, but at least he can say that much, now. “And now, so are you.”

“So is that how it always is? You get involved with people and you never tell them anything, and then you leave?”

Alex chooses to ignore the emphasis on 'you'. “It's a part of this life, sometimes. That's why the CIA highly encourages dating within the agency. Keeps things inside the circle of trust, and it's easier when your spouse knows what you do for a living.”

When Michael doesn't fire back another accusation−the fact that they're on point doesn't make them easier to hear−Alex checks his watch, to make sure they have a minute before they have to be in Liz's office. The move must bring his cane into Michael's line of sight, because he takes a step back and his breath hitches. “What it that?” he asks.

Alex scrambles for a response. “I, uh,” he starts, then shakes his head. “There should be a bench over there,” he points over his shoulder. “Let's go sit down.”

“Alex−”

“Please.”

“Okay,” Michael relents.

Alex's skin crawls at being observed the way Michael is doing, looking for any wrong move, but Michael lets him lead the way and he has no choice but to find the bench by memory and the tip of his cane.

Michael sits down heavily beside him, just close enough for Alex to feel his breath. “Is that−are you− _what happened_ ?” he stammers, shock coloring his tone.

“I'm blind,” Alex confirms, setting his still extended cane between his legs. “I was special ops, in Iraq. There was an IED.”

Michael chokes on his breath. “When?”

“Two and a half years ago.”

“Wow,” Michael murmurs. “I...I didn't expect that.”

Alex laughs darkly. “Yeah, me neither.” He realizes a bit belatedly that his brand of humor may not be welcome at the moment, but he tends to go there without thinking to defuse uncomfortable situations. His friends have gotten used to his jokes.

Maybe Michael will too, down the road.

“Look, we don't have a lot of time right now, but I've been assigned as your handler,” Alex says. “That means we're going to be working together closely. So you better ask any critical questions now.”

Michael is quiet for a moment. “Um. Well. Are you okay?”

Alex opens his mouth and closes it again. He expected a lot of things, but not this. The concern in Michael's voice seems genuine, though it's still laced with resentment.

“Yes,” he says sincerely. “It's been rough, but I'm good now.”

“Then, uh, lead the way,” Michael offers. “And...tell me if there's something I need to do?”

“Right now, you need to get to our boss's office.”

“Yeah, but I meant to make things easier for you.”

“I know what you meant,” Alex says. “I'll tell you. Just treat me like anyone else, okay?”

“You're not anyone else,” Michael replies immediately.

He's so obviously flirting that Alex just scoffs and doesn't respond. Instead, he stands up and starts down the corridor, letting Michael scramble to keep up. He has a lot of questions, about how Michael got here, and he's sure Michael has just as many for him and probably more, but now is not the time for that. Instead, he gives Michael a quick rundown of the things he needs to know−the location of the food court, that no personal cellphone is allowed in the building, where the least busy elevators are−and relishes in Michael's natural banter.

“Okay, here we are,” he stops when they get to their destination. “Liz Ortecho's office. Head of the DPD, and our boss. Liz?” he calls, knocking and opening the door.

“Alex, come in,” Liz calls. “And Michael Guerin, right? Welcome to the DPD.”

“Er, thank you,” Michael hesitates. From how he moves, Alex assumes they're shaking hands.

“Sit down,” Liz says. “Alex, there's a chair at your two o'clock.”

Alex finds it and quickly folds up his cane. Liz walks around her desk to face them.

“Alright, Michael. How much do you know about the Domestic Protection Division?”

“Uh, I've actually never heard of it.”

“Good,” Liz says. “That's the way we want it. Welcome to the DPD Operations Center. Every global threat that finds its way past our borders is dealt with here.”

“Why am I here?” Michael asks. “I was pulled out of training, I'm just looking for some clarity.”

“Then you're in the wrong line of business, sweetie,” Liz snorts. Alex hides a smile.

She types something on her keyboard, and both Michael and her turn toward where Alex knows is Liz's office projector. “Yesterday morning, an Italian civilian named Tiziano Russo contacted us. He's a military tech contractor and he claims to have intel on a planned attack on US soil. We have been unable to visually confirm his identity, but the firm he says he works with is known to provide cover for AISE tech operatives. You're going to meet him to get his data.”

“I'm going to meet with an Italian spy?” Michael asks.

“He's staying at a hotel in downtown D.C. You're going to go there, wait for his call, and give him−Alex?”

“There,” Alex hands her the phone he's just pulled out of his pocket.

“−give him this.”

“A Blackberry.”

“A dedicated two-way encrypted transponder that looks like a Blackberry,” Alex corrects him. “It will sync with any electronic device in the room that has Bluetooth activated, and grabs all the data.”

“You'll hot-sync it with Russo's phone while in the room. The data will transfer straight to here, and be removed from this phone immediately. That way if you get picked up, you have no incriminating evidence,” Liz explains.

“What does he get in return?” Michael asks.

Alex nods at him with some pride. Michael is sharp, he has to give him that. “A bank account number, which you're going to memorize before you go.”

“We're paying a foreign spy?”

“We're giving him compensation,” Liz says. “For the risks that he's taking. Quarter of a million dollars. If his data pans out, it's a deal for us.”

“Okay. So I go in there, sync the phones, give him the number.”

“That's it,” Liz confirms. “Don't have a drink with him, don't sleep with him.”

“You think I'd sleep with him?” Michael asks, confused. Alex wants to laugh. He'll have to learn soon that while secrets are at the heart of their job, there's no such thing as a closet here.

“I think he'd sleep with you.”

Michael shifts. “Why did you need  _me_ ?”

“We needed someone with perfect Italian and a photographic memory.”

“You don't have anyone else?”

“We did. She died. Let's leave it at that.”

“Ugh, reassuring,” Michael mutters. Alex wants to laugh, knowing that Liz is being purposefully scary. The spy she's talking about did die, but of breast cancer, nothing to do with their work, last year.

“We also needed someone who can pass as a prostitute,” Liz adds.

Alex hides a snort, imagining the look on Michael's face. He tries to picture it, but he draws a blank, and a spike of nostalgia courses through him. The mind is strange like that, that he can still instinctively picture Michael's facial expression when he hears his voice, but he comes up short when imagining him in a more abstract way.

He's starting to lose his visual memory, more and more of it fading away, and it hurts.

“A hooker?”

“We want to make it look like Russo is here to buy guns and party, not sell secret intel to us.”

Michael hesitates.

“If you don't want this assignment, we can send you back to the Farm,” Liz adds.

“No, no, I'm here. I can do it.”

Liz stands up, prompting Alex, then Michael to do the same. “Then Alex will set you up,” she says. “Now, I have a meeting in two minutes.”

Alex gives a wave in Michael's direction, and takes his cane out again. “Come on,” he leads Michael out of the office.

Michael waits until Liz is out of hearing range to freak out. “What do I wear?” he whispers to Alex. “I don't know how to do all that, I'm still supposed to have a month of training left.”

Alex does his best to meet his gaze from the direction of his voice, trying to provide an anchor. “It's a simple mission, Michael. In and out. There's no reason for anything to go wrong. The asset knows who you are, so you just need to look the part to everyone else, and you won't need to talk to them. Now what are you wearing?”

“Um, dark blue suit, lighter blue tie, white shirt,” Michael answers.

“Looking good on your first day,?” Alex jokes, trying to picture it. He can't, not really, and it makes him sad. He only ever saw Michael wear beach clothes, loose fitting linen pants and swim trunks. He's got to look amazing in a tailored suit.

“I wasn't sure what to expect.”

“It's good. Hookers in D.C. are pretty conservative. Just lose the tie.”

Michael fusses with his clothes for a moment. Alex reaches out until his hands land on Michael's chest. “That okay?” he asks.

“Sure.”

Alex feels his shirt up to his collar, and undoes the top buttons. “There, you should be good.”

“Thank you,” Michael murmurs, his tone suddenly intimate. He moves his head, and a strand of loose hair brushes Alex's hand. The sudden emotion, a mix of lust and nostalgia, takes him by surprise.

“Um,” he brings his hands back to his lap, flustered. “So, you just need to go up to his room and bring the phones close enough, okay? It shouldn't take more than a few minutes to work.”

“Okay,” Michael says, straightening up, professional again. “Wish me luck.”

“You don't need luck,” Alex smirks. “But good luck!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some action for this chapter!

“Alright, Guerin, do you copy?”

“Loud and clear,” the voice comes into Alex's headphones.

“Can you repeat the instructions, please?”

“I go inside, wait for the text that will give me the room number, head up there and knock. When I get in, I get the asset to sync his phone with mine. Once done, I give him the account number. I stay inside the room for exactly half-an-hour and come out. Is that right, James Bond?”

Alex huffs. “You couldn't come up with something better than James Bond?”

“Hey, I'm about to go on my first mission, I'm a little nervous, okay?”

“Alright, alright,” Alex relents with a laugh. “You're gonna be okay?”

“I hope so,” Michael answers. Alex can hear the tenseness in his voice, and he distinctly remembers his own first time out in the field. It's been surpassed by other firsts since then, most notably his first skirmish in a war zone and his first day back here, but he was nervous then, too. Eager to prove himself.

“You'll do fine. Just remember the goal.”

“And what's that again?”

“Get the intel. Don't get yourself into a situation you can't get out of.”

“Got it,” Michael breathes. “See you on the other side.”

Alex settles back into his chair, keeping his fingers on the Braille display. He has everything set up so that any disturbance reported around the hotel will get to him immediately, and the only thing he needs to do now is guide Michael through the mission.

It's boring, if he's honest. Not that he wants Michael to run into trouble, especially on his first day, but Alex has been chomping at the bit for a while now, stuck in his office while everyone else goes into the field. Today, with his handlee being a rookie on a basic retrieval mission, if feels worse than when it's Kyle, because Kyle actually knows how to use Alex's abilities.

The fact that said rookie is _Michael_ is something that he doesn't really want to consider yet.

Michael makes idle chitchat with some guy in the lobby, and Alex tunes him mostly out, instead checking over that his program on the transponder is going to do what it's supposed to.

“I've got the room number,” Michael says after a while. “155. That's on the fifteenth floor, right?”

“Yes. Let me check...third door on the right out of the elevator. Don't walk too fast.”

“Okay,” Michael mutters under his breath. “Heading there now.”

Alex mutes his mic for a moment, to alert the tech outside the hotel that Michael is on the move. He listens closely to h is first contact with the asset, unsure if Michael will be able to tell if something's off.

S omething's off. It's in the asset's voice, but also in Michael's. Alex can tell that he's uncomfortable, like he can't put a finger on the problem.

“If it feels wrong, get out,” he warns Michael.

But Michael pushes through, spouting off flawless Italian. Alex has to admit that his accent is impressive.  He gets the asset to take out his phone, Alex's computer pings to warn that the data transfer has started.

Then all hell breaks loose.

“Down!” Michael screams.

The gunshots are deafening in Alex's ears, which mean they must be worse for Michael. “Guerin?” he calls, but the fire doesn't let up. Machine gun. A single one, from the number of shots. It has to be a sniper. “Guerin!”

Michael doesn't answer, and panic rises in Alex's chest. “Michael! Dammit! Gunshots fired at the exchange location, go figure out what the hell's happening!” he shouts at the tech in his second mic. “Michael!”

The noise finally dies down. “I'm out,” Michael says. “I'm fine.”

“Thank God,” Alex murmurs. “The asset?”

“Dead. I barely got out, they shot out the entire suite.”

“Did you see where it came from?”

“No! I was trying to avoid getting shot!” Michael takes a breath. “Building across the street, I think. Same floor, or maybe one floor up.”

“Okay. Get out. Van's waiting for you downstairs.”

Alex mutes the mic again and forces his breathing to even out. Michael's fine. He said so. He made it out.

Goddammit, he hates this. Sitting at a desk powerless to do anything, while his friends walk into danger. He's not made to be a tech.

And it's really, really not supposed to be Michael out there in the field. Michael is supposed to be safe, far far away from this life. Alex did everything he could to make sure of that, and yet here Michael is, untangled in the ugliest part of his life, again.

T here is something to be said about getting yourself shot at on your first day at your new job. It's been a whole three hours and M ichael is still shaking.  He grips the wheel of his truck tightly to hide it, squirming uncomfortably in the suit he's not used to wearing, w hich miraculously wasn't ruined in the shootout and ensuing chaos.

A nd now he gets to go back to the hotel he almost died in, because in the confusion he didn't manage to get the phones to sync  fully , so they don't have the intel he came for.  Faced with Liz Ortecho's disappointment, his traitor mouth of course offered to go back and get the intel, even though the hotel room is now a federal crime scene.  Liz gave him one disbelieving huff and ordered Alex to go with him. 

Alex is sitting in the passenger side of his truck as he drives. There's something to be said about that, too, but Michael has no idea what. What kind of twist of fate is it, that the man he fell in love with on a beach in Sri Lanka not only is a CIA operative, but has just been assigned as his handler?

Michael shakes his head, deciding that he can't be thinking about this now. He has to stay focused. He can't be distracted by the folded white cane resting on Alex's lap, or the way he kneads into the muscles of his thigh like he's in pain−another injury he hasn't said anything about? He absolutely cannot be distracted by the adorable way Alex is worrying at his lower lip.

“What are you thinking about?” Michael asks, putting his truck into reverse to park.

Alex shakes himself out of his musings. “Who the hell drives an ancient truck in DC?”

“I bought it in Texas,” Michael answers. “Restored it from a carcass. It's a fine truck!”

“In cowboy country, maybe. Not here.”

Michael didn't expect the rush of annoyance that comes over him, but he should have. It's a constant when someone laughs at his origins,  a souvenir from a childhood of being uprooted every few months. That and the fact that Alex  _lied about everything_ .  “I thought you were from New Mexico  too ? Or was that another lie?”

Alex sighs at the animosity in Michael's voice. “I'm from Roswell,  originally ,” he says. “ Never been much of a cowboy, though.”

M ichael opens his mouth to hiss that he's sure Alex drives a sports car or something, but he suddenly realizes how insensitive that would be. It comes out as a weird aborted sound.

“What is it?” Alex asks after a moment, cutting through the tension.

“Nothing. I… I was going to ask you what kind of car you drive,” he admits.

“Oh.”

Alex's face is closed off  now , frowning.  M ichael shift uncomfortably. 

“We're here,” he says. “Should we head up?”

Alex holds up a hand.  “What's your plan?”

“Those transponders, you just have to get them close to a phone to get its data, right?”

“Within fifteen feet, yes.”

“And it can remove the data from the phone entirely?”

“It can do whatever I want it to do.” Alex relaxes visibly and smirks, a little bit of pride in his voice. “I designed it.”

“Make it look like an innocent businessman's phone?”

“Yeah, sure. But you can't waltz into an active crime scene just like that.”

“Watch me.”

Alex snorts and Michael belatedly realizes what's funny.

“Oh, that's how it's going to be, uh?” Alex laughs. “All jokes aside, I'm going to need a little more than that, Guerin,” he says, though he keeps smiling. “I'm your handler. We encourage risk-taking and initiative. We _do not_ encourage getting arrested by the FBI on your first day.”

Michael shrugs.  “ I just need to get close to the p hone , right? So I go in and tell them I saw something. They'll let me in if they think I'm a witness.”

“Getting in isn't the issue, Guerin. They'll want to interrogate you. How do you get out?”

So maybe he didn't really think this through. “I, uh...”

“Think on your feet. What do you have?”

Michael ponders that for a moment. “I have you,” he says.

“That's right. Use me.”

“But how?”

“You want to throw them off their game,” Alex answers. “Make them _want_ you to leave. And no one ever expects the blind guy.”

He exposes his rather simple plan quickly, while taking  s omething that looks like a thick keyboard out of his bag−a screenless laptop, Michael understands, watching him type at a high speed and run his fingers over  what Michael thinks is a Braille display. He's so fascinated that he doesn't even realize Alex has stopped typing until he  opens his door . “Here, the transponder will do what we need,”  Alex says. “Let's go.”

M ichael nods absently and gets out of the truck. Alex imitates him and unfolds his cane, then seems to hesitate, his head down like he's listening.

“Um, how do we−” Michael starts, joining him on the sidewalk.

“Come here,” Alex waves him closer. “Hold out your right hand. I don't strictly need you to guide me, but this will make keeping track of you easier. If you tap your hand against mine like this,” he demonstrates, tapping the back of his left hand on Michael's, “I know to take your elbow. Then just warn me about major obstacles. If there's a door, you put your hand behind your back so I fall back behind you. I'll keep using my cane, so you don't have to worry about anything else.”

“Okay,” Michael breathes. “I think I've got it.” He hopes he'll remember everything under pressure, but it doesn't seem overly complicated. “The hotel is over there. Sorry, I mean to your, um, right?”

“You can use the clock if you want to be more precise. In this case, if I'm right about where you parked, I'd say two o'clock?”

“Yeah,” Michael says, impressed. “Shall we?”

Alex loosely grabs his elbow. “Lead the way.”

Michael starts walking slowly, then speeds up to a normal pace when he sees Alex is following without trouble, swiping at the floor in front of them with his white cane. “What do you do when you're on your own?” he asks out of curiosity.

“In a place I don't know, it's best if I try to ask for help,” Alex answers with mild distaste. “But I can navigate on my own if I really need to. GPS is my friend, and my ears and my cane do the rest of the work.”

Michael tries to imagine walking down a busy street like this one without seeing, but he can't. He wants to ask more questions, but the ones burning in his mind aren't suitable for their surroundings, and they're in front of the hotel anyway.

“I'm opening the door on the right,” he announces, slipping his hand behind his back. Alex falls behind, but not before his cane snags on the doorway. “Do I need to do this earlier?” Michael asks.

“Yes, a little bit. But as long as I'm using my cane, I'm not going to run head first into a doorway, so it's fine.”

“Okay. So the elevator is at the other end of the lobby, but there are a few FBI agent down here.”

“It's too busy for me to hear anything, so I'll have to trust you on that,” Alex says. “Just walk like you know where you're going. Confidence is usually the trick.”

Michael does his best to obey, Alex's presence boosting him despite the vague tension between them.  He keeps his head high and his gait confident as they cross through the lobby, people giving them a wide berth because of Alex's cane. He doesn't meet the two agents' eyes, and he doesn't breathe until they're in the elevator.

“Don't panic, Guerin, breathe,” Alex murmurs the moment they're alone.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm okay.”

Alex pats his elbow. “You got shot at, it was traumatizing. That's completely normal. If you need a minute before we go in, just say the word.”

Michael takes a few deep breaths, watching the floor number go up. “I'm good,” he says.

“Sir, you can't come in here,” the FBI guard tells Michael, completely ignoring Alex, when they go straight for the door to room 155.

“Who's in charge?” Michael asks. “I have something to tell them about the case.”

The agent frowns, unsure what to do. “Stay here,” he tells them, nodding to the second guard, and he ducks inside the room.

He comes back a minute later with a young blond woman, also in a FBI jacket. “Agent Cameron,” she introduces herself. “You say you have something to tell me?”

Michael comes as close as he can to the door. Alex doesn't let go of  h i s arm, keeping quiet.

“Can we come in? It's important.”

Cameron frowns. “You can tell me here.”

Michael leans in for a conspiratorial whisper. “I was here when it happened.”

“Here? In this room?”

“Yes.”

“Alright,” Cameron says, suspicious. “I'm going to need to ask you some questions. Can your friend wait here?”

M ichael wants to roll his eyes at the way she doesn't address Alex directly, though it plays into their game. “I don't want him to be disoriented,” he says hesitantly.

Cameron sighs. “Fine, come inside. Just don't touch anything.”

Michael does a little victory shout in his head. They're in.

The room is turned upside down, all the furniture shot to hell. A dozen agents and techs are milling around,  hiding the body from sight .

“I'll need both your IDs,” Cameron says. “What were you doing in here, mister, uh...”

“Truesdale. Josh Truesdale,” Michael hands her the fake ID Alex gave him at the start of the operation. He feels Alex let go of him and veer to the side. “I had a business meeting.” 

“What kind of business are you in?”

M ichael licks his lips, tilting his head  suggestively . “Er, I don't want to get into any trouble.”

Cameron raises an eyebrow. “You're...oh,” she realizes. “Look, we're not going to bust you if you say you're a hooker.”

“We don't like to use that term,” Michael frowns.

“It's crowded in here,” Alex says loudly, calling attention to himself. Cameron turns to him, and it gives Michael the opportunity to walk closer to the table where the Italian spy's phone is still sitting, now bagged for evidence, without looking suspicious. He hopes Alex's device is working as advertised in his pocket.

“Are you a detective?” Alex asks Cameron.

“I'm an FBI agent,” Cameron answers, articulating every word.

“Hey, I'm blind, not deaf,” Alex grumbles. “No need to shout.”

“Look,” Michael starts. “I'm a good guy. I'm just trying to do the right thing here. You know, come forward.”

“Who was your...client?” Cameron asks.

“The agency said his name was Marco. Italian business man. This was our first party together.”

“What's the agency?”

Michael rummages his pocket and hands her a card. “There's my cell on the back,” he says with a wink.

Cameron makes a face. “Did you see anything through that window?”

“No, but I wasn't really looking. I was...you know. I was standing over there. Didn't have time to really do anything, a shame. The shots came through here. Somewhere. I'm not sure. I ran out as fast as I could.”

“Okay,” Cameron says doubtfully. “Let me ask you something. Why did you really come here?” She points to Alex. “Why is _he_ here?”

Michael  feels the short vibration of his phone indicating the transfer is complete. Now they just need to get out. Playing it up, he leans into C ameron's space. “He's my best client. I told him about what happened, and he wanted to see it for himself.”

“But he can't see!”

Michael shrugs. “I don't ask that kind of questions.”

“Is the body over there?” Alex asks obnoxiously, swiping his cane as wide as he can. 

“To the right!” Michael answers just as loudly.

“Okay, okay, people, this is a crime scene,” Agent Cameron chides. “You can't touch anything.”

“I've never been in a crime scene!” Alex shouts. “Can I take a picture?”

H e continues to swipe his cane randomly until Cameron grabs his arm. “N o picture. Here, take your ID and leave,  _please_ .”

“Fine, fine, let's go,” Alex says, now pretending to search for Michael.

“Sorry about that, Agent Cameron,” Michael says sweetly, tapping Alex's hand.

H e feels her gaze on them as they leave, but she doesn't try to stop them.  He's fairly sure she didn't buy into his story, but Alex was right. Nobody knows what to do with a blind man in a crime scene.

“Transfer went through,” he tells Alex as soon as they reach the elevator. “We're good.”

“Well done, you were great.”

“That was−” Michael starts laughing, searching for the right word.

“Fun?” Alex offers with a grin.

“Hell yeah! Nerve-wracking _and_ fun.”

A mid the exhilaration, Michael can almost forget the three years of heartbreak and resentment and fall in love with Alex's laugh all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> Every comment makes my day! All thoughts are welcome, included but not limited to theories, favorite lines, squeals, emojis, or anything you feel like sharing ❤️
> 
> I'm also on [Tumblr](https://emma-arthur.tumblr.com/) if you want to chat!


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